


Patience

by icepixie



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-05-01
Updated: 2003-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 15:31:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icepixie/pseuds/icepixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Jack take an unexpected dip. Obligatory fishing story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere in S4, I think.

The sound of windchimes woke her up just as dawn began to steal into the room through the open windows, gilding the walls and making shadows play on the ceiling. For a moment, Sam Carter wondered why the room looked so unfamiliar, until awareness flowed back along with consciousness, and she remembered that she was in the guest room at Colonel O'Neill's cabin in northern Minnesota.

Funny, though, Sam thought as she pulled the sheet off her body and sat up, then stood, the chill of the wooden floor meeting the soles of her bare feet and causing a shiver to run up her spine--the Colonel didn't really strike her as a windchime kind of guy. He seemed more of the tacky lawn ornament type, if anything.

She crossed to the nearer of the two windows and looked out to see if she could find the source of the tinkling music. Ah, there they were--barely visible beneath the canopy of dark green leaves she had to look through, she could just make out a set of silver chimes hung on one of the lower branches of the tree that rose up to and beyond her second-story window.

She stood looking out at the tree and what little she could see of the lake shimmering in the distance for a few moments before she realized that small shivers were running through her body. A quick glance at her arms confirmed the suspicion that she had goosebumps on the pale flesh, and she stepped away from the window, rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm up as she did so.

Sam walked across the room to her duffel bag and pulled out a sweatshirt, glad that the Colonel had told her to pack some warm clothes along with shorts and T-shirts. Early June here was definitely not what she was used to. She shrugged into the old grey garment with its Air Force Academy insignia printed on the front and decided to investigate what could possibly be found that might be able to be made into breakfast. As she left the room, she gave a thought to running a brush through her hair, but quickly discarded it--the chances of the Colonel being up at this hour were slim to nonexistent, and anyway, he'd seen her plenty disheveled on missions. What was a little bed hair between friends?

After descending the narrow, creaky staircase to the ground floor, Sam found her way to the kitchen. They had arrived late the previous night, and both had wanted nothing more than a bed and a few hours to sleep. Jack had promised her the grand tour in the morning. Sam paused at the entrance to the small kitchen, somewhat startled at her mind's sudden use of "Jack" in reference to her colonel. Even in her internal narrative, she usually referred to him as "Colonel" or "sir." She grinned for a moment. If this kept up, he might eventually get her to start calling him that when they were off-duty, something which he'd been trying to do for years, largely to no avail.

Upon investigation of the cabinets, she found a loaf of bread that didn't _look_ moldy. The refrigerator yielded a half-empty jar of grape jelly and a small plastic tub of butter, plus a carton of orange juice that was--barely--still in date. Sam smiled. Success! She popped two slices of bread into the toaster and hunted for a plate, a glass, and a knife.

She was so intent in her search that she didn't hear Jack approach until he stood at the door. "Nice hair, Carter," he said casually. She could hear the restrained mirth in his voice.

Sam turned around and took in her CO's T-shirt, boxers, and tousled hair with a glance. "I could say the same to you, sir." Her blue eyes danced at his rueful grin, and she bit back another smile.

He stepped over the threshold and into the kitchen. Eyeing the breakfast implements spread out on the counter, he opened a cabinet she hadn't tried yet and silently handed her a plate and a glass. He then opened a drawer and passed her a knife. She accepted them, hearing the clinking of more dishes being taken out as she turned and placed her own on the small round table against the wall opposite the refrigerator.

He poured two glasses of juice as she spread butter and jelly on her toast. He placed two more pieces of bread in the toaster, then took his glass and joined her at the table.

"I didn't expect to see you up so early, s--"

Jack cut her off before she could utter the word. "_Sam_," he said, emphasizing his deliberate use of her first name, "how many times have I told you..."

"Far too many to count, _Jack_." There, she'd said it. She grinned with delight at both his smile and at the barest hint of a shiver that she had seen running through him. So his name on her lips had the same effect as hers did when it came from his. Good to know. Sam filed that little bit of information away for future reference.

"See, that wasn't so hard. One syllable. Cake compared to the words you mystify me with daily." His expression managed to be both gently self-mocking and full of admiration and adoration for her. Sam's breath began to move in and out of her lungs more quickly.

Before either of them could say anything more, Jack's toast popped out of the toaster, the loud sound bringing both of them back to reality. Jack stood up walked over to the counter to grab his breakfast. Sam began to munch on her own toast.

They continued breakfast in silence. Or, rather, they continued their breakfast without talking, listening instead to the chirping of birds and the constant noise of crickets that swelled and contracted at seemingly random intervals. And as she finished her first piece of toast, Sam heard it again.

"I have to say, I wouldn't have pegged you as the type for windchimes, si--uh, Jack." It was easier to drop the formality up here, away from the controlled environment of their lives at the SGC and in Colorado.

He glanced outside the large window above the sink that was letting in so much sunlight. "Yeah, I like 'em," he said. "They're relaxing."

"They're nice," Sam agreed, falling silent as the breeze died down, taking the tinkling melody of the chimes with it.

They finished their breakfast quietly, and then Jack suggested that they make themselves presentable and make the fifteen-mile drive into town for some groceries. Though they were only going to be there for four days, neither man nor woman could live on toast and orange juice alone.

* * *

The afternoon found them both barefoot and in shorts and T-shirts, lounging on the end of the dock in the sun. The dock was a creaky wooden affair, the safety of which Sam was not altogether sure about. But Jack had assured her that it wasn't going to fall into the lake any time soon, so she followed him out to where it ended and sat down on the pleasantly-warm wood. She scooted closer to the edge and let her legs dangle over it, the crests of little waves just barely splashing over her toes. She watched for a moment as Jack sat beside her and opened his tackle box, fishing around for lures, before opening the book she'd brought with her to where a piece of paper torn from a lab notebook marked her place.

She could feel Jack's wry gaze before she'd even finished the sentence. She looked up.

"Sure you won't reconsider about fishing not being your thing?" he asked.

"Nope," she told him. "I like things with a little more action." She held up the book so he could see the cover. It was a murder mystery that involved lots of car chases, mistaken identities, and less-than-savoury intelligence contacts.

Jack snorted, and she heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "At least it's not any of that wormhole mumbo-jumbo."

Sam decided to ignore the comment. "Besides," she said, "I have it on good authority that there are no fish in this lake."

He shook his head. "Been talkin' to Teal'c, huh?"

She grinned at him. "You betcha." This trip was bringing out her cheeky side like nothing else.

"Ha, ha." Jack mock-glared at her and then turned to cast his line into the sparkling water. He jammed his hat further down on his head and appeared to be settling down for an extended communion with the mythical fish that inhabited the lake. Sam, sensing that the conversation was over for the moment, returned to her novel.

She'd barely finished the page when he surprised her by asking, "So if you're not here for the fishing, what did you have in mind to do?"

She used the strip of paper to mark her place once more. Turning to face her inquisitive CO, she waved her arm to indicate their general situation. "This," she said. "You and Janet both told me I needed to relax. This fits the 'peaceful' bill pretty well."

"'And I shall have some peace here, for peace comes dropping slow,'" he quoted softly, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality. Sam thought that even though he was sitting less than a foot away from her, Jack suddenly seemed very far away.

"Yeats," she said after a moment, her mind finally putting a name to the familiar line.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice still hushed. "That poem's gotten me through a lot of bad times. I think of those words, and I can take myself here."

Sam felt her breath catch in her throat. In return for her calling him by his name, it appeared that Jack was also breaking a few of the barriers between them.

They didn't speak for a long while, but Sam didn't go back to her book. Instead, she stared out at the opposite shore of the lake, at the sparkles the sun made on the moving water, at the sky that was so blue it could have almost been considered cartoonish. Finally, she glanced over at Jack, who was...fishing. Very, very intently.

A smile tickled her mouth. "No offense, but I don't understand how you can be so irritated by the time we spend on Daniel's 'rocks' and yet sit there patiently waiting for," she checked her watch, "forty-five minutes for a fish that probably isn't even going to bite."

He swung his gaze to meet hers. Instead of the raised eyebrow and sarcastic remark she expected, she received a look filled with something she couldn't quite identify as his dark eyes searched her face. "I can be very patient," he finally said, his words heavy with hidden meaning, "when I think something's worth waiting for."

Perhaps it was the look in his eyes. Perhaps it was the magic of this place, and the spell woven by the crickets, the birds, and the water lapping against the wooden posts that held up the dock. Perhaps it was because she had almost died, again, on their last mission off-world, which was what had prompted Janet to insist that she find somewhere away from the SGC to relax and recuperate. Or perhaps she just wasn't as patient as Jack O'Neill.

The brush of her lips against his was the softest touch imaginable. It could have stopped then, gone no further than that brief moment, been put down to the sun addling their brains. But she didn't want it to end there. So instead, she placed her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer even as he did the same with a hand on her back. Book and fishing pole both tumbled, forgotten, onto the dock, the clatter going unnoticed.

They lost themselves in each other. Sam could concentrate only on the feel of Jack's skin beneath her fingers and on all the lovely things he was doing to her with his mouth. Everything else, from the sound of the crickets to the feel of the dock underneath them, faded from her conscious awareness as they entered into what could definitely start being called a make-out session. They moved in each other's arms, trying to find the best position in which to kiss each other thoroughly, continually shifting their weight to do so.

And then Sam didn't feel the dock underneath her. Conscious awareness of this fact came rushing back rather quickly, along with the notion that perhaps that wasn't a good...

"Auuugh!"

_splash_

gurgle

...thing.

Sam realized immediately that even though she was completely turned around by her unexpected dip in the lake, if she stayed still, she would float to the surface. A few seconds after realizing this, her head broke the surface, and she coughed and sputtered, getting the water out of her lungs.

Jack bobbed up a a moment later, though Sam, preoccupied as she was with her own airways, didn't notice him for a bit. Finally, when they could both breathe again, they shared an embarrassed glance through the water that dripped down their faces. It was quite the sorry sight.

And then Sam heard them again. The joyful, irregular melody of the windchimes that was carried to them by the breeze seemed almost as if it were the laughter of someone who had seen their undignified descent into the lake. And with that thought, a grin cracked across Sam's face. Despite her stern internal admonition of "no giggling!" she was helpless to fight the giggle fit that overcame her, the chortling almost sending her underwater again.

Jack raised his eyebrow at the woman in the water with him, the action clearly conveying his growing certainty that she was, in fact, completely bonkers. Finally, Sam's giggles died down a bit and she took pity on Jack's confusion. She waved an arm in the general direction of the shore before using it again to tread water and said, "I'm never going to be able to hear a windchime again without thinking of this."

Jack's puzzled expression endured a second longer before he, too, began to laugh, his mirth inciting another wave of giggles from Sam. All the while, the breeze skimmed through the trees and brought the sound of the windchimes to their ears.

Eventually, they had the bright idea to drag themselves out of the water, still chilly at that point in summer, and up on the dock. Jack, ever irreverent, made the requisite poor taste comment. "The wet T-shirt look is good on you, Sam. You should try it more often."

Sam snorted. "Would you like another trip into the lake?" she asked sweetly.

"I think I'll pass on that one." He reached for her, intending to pull her closer; his touch on her arm was tentative, as if he feared that the dip in the cold water had brought reality and all its rules and regulations back into the forefront of her mind. She hurried to move as close to him as possible, tucking her head onto his shoulder as his arm tightened around her. Her position allowed her to feel his voice as it reverberated in his chest. "I kinda like it up here."


End file.
